Dear Metra, I Don’t Miss You

I used to ride you every weekend, every weekend for nearly 3 years.
From Mayfair to Round Lake and back again.

And I sat in your god-awful seats, and payed more than I wanted to for a ticket, and used your often smelly bathrooms, and stood outside in the cold and waited for you to come, but you were often late, and I talked to the crazies and 14 year-old mothers and ignored the upper-crusts because they stuck their noses in the air and looked at me like I was something you could catch and spread to your family, and I ignored the sports fans and the rowdies and the middle aged men without women drinking can after can of bad beer, and I often wrote in my notebook “get me off the god damn train” because I was 14 and that was the only way i could think to outlet my anger.

And I hated all of it. And when I did it again this weekend, I liked it even less.
I like the “L” better than I like you.
You suck. And no, the scenery isn’t any sort of “saving grace,” because all I saw on the way to and from Lake County was suburban sprawl, townhomes and strip malls and high schools and even a few junk yards.
I hate you, Metra.


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